


John

by synonym



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-03 23:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10261061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonym/pseuds/synonym
Summary: Jeeves’ whole perspective of his thought-to-be celibate employer is changed one night where he accidentally happens upon Mr. Wooster, flushed and panting in his bed with nothing but a rumpled dress shirt on, bringing himself slowly to a release with his hand. He finds himself at a loss on how to adjust to this new knowledge as well as at loss to understand the burning, sickening feeling he felt at the name uttered by his employer as he climaxed; “John.”





	

It had been one of my usual nights off and I had spent most of it in the bar of the Ganymede club. I did not often drink unless there was something in particular wearing on my thoughts, tonight was the uncommon exception, where a night off aligned with the celebratory function due one of the club member’s birthday. A celebratory function here, in contrast to what my employer would deem as such at the Drones, meant a pleasant speech with the noise of mild chatter in comparison to the usual soft hum of hushed voices tucked away in isolated corners and moderately inebriated individuals that still managed to portray their near instinctual facades of unaffected calm to one another. 

I had been working on a scotch, an ice cube floating in the room temperature liquid, when I found myself longing for the comforts of home. I do not recall when I had begun referring to the lodgings of my employer as my own, but through many of the years we had spent together, we had become an unspoken tie of two souls that had tangled so far into one another they could not be undone. Mr. Wooster was, indeed, dependent on my person and in return, this may be surprising to some, I had accomplished a semblance of dependency on him as well. Not in the same manner, he looked towards me for guidance and security, and I found in him a sense of a familial bond and comfort. Perhaps it was unorthodox in many ways, but it suited the two of us which the last four years had proven. 

On the other end of the coin, it had been a trial to convince many members of the agency why I had decided to remain in the employ of a man they believed to be mentally negligent and incomprehensibly impulsive. The true answer was far too weak willed and far unlike my demeanor, that I had found a friend as well as amiable and good spirited employer, so I used the concept that he was a malleable individual with a desire to remain a bachelor, painting it in the light that it was beneficial to my person. I suppose it was, in fact, beneficial, however I could easily find employment elsewhere. Simply put, I had no desire to leave him and he had no intention on changing his marital status nor our situation. 

You may be inquiring at this point; what of the carnal desires that lie within the basis of men? Mr. Wooster, himself, as I had gained vast knowledge of his habits and mannerisms, had no interest in either sexes of any kind. He hadn't hidden away any discreet literature or photography, he never batted an eye or gazed too long at any individual, and assuredly, had never taken anyone to his bed. I have no qualms about people interested the same sex of their person, I fell, for the most part, into that category, and it would make no difference if it were a woman or man that caught his eye. The only problem it would cause would be the threat to what my employer had deemed our 'cozy bachelor establishment' and I had no tolerance for that. I was grateful that his romantic interests were nonexistent, although a casual lover would not bother me as it would not affect our dynamic, I could hardly deny the fact that there was no possibility of that changing was wildly more appealing. 

I, on occasion, had found myself looking for release and sought it out when necessary. I was not ruled by my carnal desires, therefore it wasn't a common occurrence that I found myself in the arms of another and it wasn't an act of tender emotions. Merely for the sexual stimulation, but less so in the past year, choosing a more singular activity instead of the act of two people. It wasn't difficult to find a partner, but it became increasingly less necessary in my mind and I could not pinpoint as to why. I didn't dwell over it, however, as it was nothing I lacked from my current situation.

I let my eyes drift from the unfocused view of two men clasping hands with quiet congratulatory murmurs to the crafted clock that rested on the mantel in the distance. The hands read a quarter past seven. Mr Wooster was likely at his club, he was often there late when he went, and he had a tendency to schedule many of those evenings on the nights of which I had off, in some silent way of letting it be known that he enjoyed the time we spent together. He always found it necessary to show in a multitude of ways that he appreciated my company and I had, at first, found it uneasy but which slowly transcended into endearment. I have never particularly had a personal fondness for anyone beyond the realm of immediate relatives, but he, in all his innocence and blatant kindness, slipped through the cracks. 

I decided to make my return home, tipping the glass to my mouth and emptying it, basking in the warmth that traveled from my throat to my chest as if as if seeping into my bloodstream, and left a tip on the counter. The cool air was a welcome against the prickling heat of my skin, which resulted in my choosing of a languid walk back to Berlekey rather than hailing a cab. I found myself recalling a small moment in New York, where my employer and I had spent our time, after many scenarios had went awry, together one evening in a small restaurant. He had forced me, with large pleading eyes, to have dinner in his company and I had just enough alcohol, it seemed, to be unable to refuse him.

“Jeeves,” He had said after taking a long drink of his champagne, “This may sound a bit, well, strange,”

His sentence had seemed to soften out of existence, and his bright eyes moved from the plethora of lights flickering on the other side of the glass to mine. He had smiled in a quiet, peaceful manner I had never been privy to, prior to that moment, “Rather, I feel safe with you, what? I know it is silly, but I wanted you to know,”

“It is not silly, sir,” I remember my voice felt far too genuine to my ears, “I’m glad you are able to find a sense of comfort in our professional arrangement.” 

My mind may have commented here, that while he smiled with a comprehension of the meaning in my words and bashfully looked out the window once more, his hand cupped around the side of his cheek, supporting his head, that he looked rather handsome in the ever changing lights. I had consumed enough to be unsure of the validity of that now, but it may have occurred.

“Tell me something that you have never told anyone,” He had said, after he returned to his meal and drink. His lips lightly pressed against the thin glass as he spoke, “I will go first, in the spirit of the thing. My parents died when I had been nearing the age of seven. It had been… an accident but the part that stings the most about the whole ordeal is that I had made them come home that night. I bally well begged and cried for them to return that evening instead of the next morning, and they complied with my childish wishes and I never… told anyone that detail because, it had been, very obviously part of my doing and I really forgave myself for it. I try now my utmost to be giving and help chaps out as much as I can, but I suppose that is the whatits of life,” He had given me a small smile, “Rummy, depressing story, what? I am dashed sorry to put a damper on the evening, but I figure an eye for an eye, or whatever the saying may be,”

“You haven’t, sir,” I remember feeling surprise in the somberness of his tone, how my heart seemed to pull towards his as he recounted the memory, “I would like to point out, if I may, that the fault of that happening is not your own. An accident may have also occurred the next morning had you not pleaded with them to return and thus you would blamed yourself for not attempting to shorten their visit. You cannot blame yourself for things out of your direct control, although blame is so easily inflicted at one’s self, it is not always logical and true.”

His eyes seemed to shine as he had looked at me then, “Thank you, Jeeves.”

I had answered with warm assurance, likely far too warm than I had ought to, and he had pointed his fork at me, “It’s time to take the torch or whatnot, I have no doubt there is something inside that large cranium of yours that you haven’t shared with another soul,” 

I did not recall what I told him then, but the memory had begun to dissipate in my mind as I climbed the steps into the building. I gave a small nod to the doorman, who seemed to return it slightly, and I made my way in the familiar corridors. 

It had been a reflex to protect my employer, he was young and naive of the world, he treated everyone infinitely better than they deserved and had mercy for any individual that made an error. When he had let it be known to me what he believed to be the cause of his parents passing, it was not in my place to correct him, but I felt the deepest need to lessen the burden he carried.

I opened the door quietly, clicking it closed behind me and breathed in with an audible breath. I hung up my coat, and was in the midst of removing my shoes when a sound reached my ears, a meek noise, that sounded human but much unlike words. I placed my shoes away and my eyes caught sight of the small pool of light that was seeping out of my employer’s room. He must have changed his mind about his club and remained in, it seemed.

I slipped on the shoes I had accustomed myself to wearing indoors, when I heard a soft noise once more, almost akin to a cry, but with more a breathless tone to it. I moved slowly towards the door, in concern of both my employer and startling him, and my eyes caught sight of the image through the small opening that nearly stopped my heart. 

He laid with his back upon his bed, his leg bent and spread apart, the only article of clothing on his lithe body was a partially buttoned, rumpled dress shirt, one hand had his thumb near the corner of his mouth, the other sliding up and down his member with a steady pace. His face was flushed, his eyes closed, his honey blonde hair tousled. He let out another whimper, between his rapid breaths, and I could feel the carnal empathy humming through my veins. 

I should have left him alone then, it was improper of me to intrude and a completely invasion of my employer’s privacy, but the knowledge that I had been entirely misguided about his person for such a length of time had me rooted in stone with the visual demonstration of this knowledge before me.

His back arched slightly and his toes seemed to curl, in the similar way they curled when he was reading a particularly engaging novel, and his whimpers, became more frequent, more comprehensible, molding into soft pleas. I felt an aching reaction in my own person to the breathtaking demonstration of his needs, the primal stir taking a physical turn, and I felt like my lungs could not properly let oxygen enter my body. The curls near his thighs were only a shade darker than the ones on his head, and the pink of both his nipples and his mouth seemed overly vibrant. I felt the warmth crawl up into my neck and face as he gained momentum, and began quickening the aforementioned steady pace of his hand. 

“I cannot,” He whimpered softly between his rapid breathing and fast motions. His back arched a fraction more, his hand stopping near the tip of his member. His voice seemed to start a small cry but found itself into one final word and the liquid spilled from him, onto the back of his palm and between his fingers; “John,”

My carnal empathy was suddenly thrown off course, and despite the continued throbbing in my groin, I was hit with a suddenly sick, displeasurable feeling. The beautiful vision of my employer, shaking and panting, with his rosy cheeks aflame and stains of his own climax on small parts of his dress shirt, was thwarted by the burning pressing thought of who was in his mind. 

It was not supposed to be an ordeal, I had told myself such many times, had he ever come to regard another with sexual interest but for some unknown reason the feeling in my chest was overwhelming and a near painful experience. The concept of him with another had always been an abstract idea, rather than visual reality. 

He picked himself up off the bed, his breathing regulating, and I quickly made my retreat to my own quarters. 

The thought followed me still, another seeing him in such a mesmerizing state, placing their hands upon his small, powerless body, causing him to writhe and whimper as he did, and it was causing an unknown feeling that created physical nausea in the pit of my stomach. The perplexing visual of him even being found in such an act after all of this time was enough to create doubts in my mind of everything that I knew of him. The man I knew had never once shown any signs of this side of him, so how did this escape me? I felt knocked sideways from the turn of events and found myself opening a small bottle of scotch I had been keeping in my bottom drawer. I drank with my door locked until my head was swimming and I could not move myself from mattress.

Even then, all I heard, as if a consequence of depraved voyeuristic actions; ‘John, John, John.’


End file.
